Fear of a Nation
by maple mouse
Summary: In a moment of anger, England attempts to cast a spell on America, one that will force him to face his deepest fears. However England messes up and the spell is turned against all the nations. Rated T because I'm not sure how crude it is to call someone "bloody git" and because the mere presence of France can taint a story, no matter how many times you hit him with a frying pan.
1. Prologue and Chapter 1- Hero Complex

**well, this is my first story and I really hope its good. I appreciate and encourage constructive criticism, so if you notice any errors (spelling and grammar especially) please tell me and I'll fix it. That's really all I have to say for now, so enjoy! **

**disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, I do not own Hetalia, any of its characters or pretty much anything else. **

**Prologue**

"Alright!" America yelled, leaping from his seat and dashing to the front of the room. "Now that everyone is here, this world conference can begin. Because I'm the hero, I'll go first."

"He got to start last time," Prussia muttered, "someone else should start for a change… someone more awesome." Beside him, Germany elbowed his brother into silence as he scanned the room.

Japan look across the table at Germany, "Is everything arright, Germany-san? You look rearry stressed." The island nation studied his ally closely, concern in his eyes, "Is there something wrong?"

Germany shook his head, "Nein, nothing is wrong. I simply find these meetings annoying and pointless as nothing is ever accomplished. I hate to say it, but do not blame Italy for skipping out on these meetings."

Looking around with veiled surprise, Japan realized for the first time that Italy was not present. He wondered briefly where the Italian was, and then decided that it was none of his business; he should be paying attention to the meeting on the off chance that something important happened, not worrying about Italy. Japan turned his attention back to the meeting and found that fights and arguments had broken out throughout the room. Across the room, Turkey and Greece hurled insults at each other; Hungary chased France around the room, waving her frying pan over her head; America had left his place at the front and was poking England in the head with a ballpoint pen and its soft clicking was barely audible over the din that filled the room. Nearly everyone in the room was involved in some sort of dispute; only a few were still remaining calm and keeping their composure. Among them was Japan, of course, Germany, Liechtenstein, Russia, England and (surprisingly) Prussia; and even among them, a few seemed like they were barely holding on to their self-control, England especially.

**Chapter 1- Hero Complex**

England sighed, leaning back in his chair and massaging his temples as his annoying younger brother poked him repeatedly. He hated these world meetings, they always ended the same. It was enough to drive anyone mad. England could feel a headache coming on and he sighed once again, rolling his tense shoulders. He felt a hand on his shoulder and France whispered soft French words into his ear. The Brit jerked violently away and raised a hand to strike at France; he was beaten to it however by Hungary's frying pan. The makeshift weapon collided, full force, with the perverted nation's head and unfortunately, its momentum was too great for Hungary to pull it back before it struck England as well.

England and France both flew across the room, propelled by the incredible force behind Hungary's blow, and landed in a heap on the floor. Laughing his perverted laugh, France sprung to his feet and rushed off to molest someone else, still being chased by Hungary. England struggled to rise, but his vision swam and he collapsed back down, closing his eyes and wondering for the thousandth time why he even bothered coming to these meetings.

"Never fear, the hero is here!" America yelled, picking up England bridal style.

The Brit's eyes snapped open with shock, "get your bloody hands off me, you git!" he screamed.

His brother laughed, making no move to obey. He pranced across the room, England still in his arms, declaring himself the hero. As America paraded around the room with the angry nation in his grip, one of Greece's cats darted out from beneath the table and America stumbled, trying to avoid crushing the tabby cat. Unfortunately, as he tried to be the hero to the tiny cat, America lost his grip on his older brother, who fell to the floor yet again.

This time England had no trouble rising to his feet, he braced himself on the table, directing all of his anger at America, who had snatched up the cat and was lecturing it on not getting in a hero's way. England trembled with fury and began to chant in a chilling voice, slowly gaining volume as he went. As he incanted, the room grew silent, all turning to watch the infuriated nation. The air around America began to shimmer and swirl, forming a dark purple cloud around him. '_That's right',_ England though as he chanted, '_it's time for you to learn a lesson and overcome this hero complex of yours. You aren't as awesome as you think you are… it's time to face your fears, bloody git!'_

"…I have a bad feeling about this…" a soft voice whispered, directly behind him.

England jumped with surprise, not having realized that someone was behind him, he faltered in his chant for a moment as he turned to face the nation behind him. The offending nation wore a red sweatshirt, was hugging a white bear to his chest and looked eerily similar to America. England stuttered for a moment before realizing his mistake and quickly trying to resume his chant, but it was too late. Normally, stopping mid-chant would end a spell, right then and there, but not this time; this spell was too far along and was too powerful to be stopped and now there was no one directing or controlling it.

The purple cloud pulsed violently and expanded, filling the whole room with the thick magical smoke. All of the nations present panicked as they found their air supply suddenly choked off. They all gasped for air for a few minutes, fighting the powerful magic around them, but one by one, they each slipped into unconsciousness.

**Well, that's it for chapter one! I hope you liked it. With any luck, it won't be too long before I upload the next chapter, but I make no promises, life can be pretty busy.**


	2. Chapter 2- Empty Glove

**Hey everyone, I'm back! I can't believe how many people have read/ followed/ favorited my story already. I would like to give a special thank you to Ryuuchi Seijuro and RahrzMohnster for commenting, I enjoyed receiving input from both of you, it meant a lot. Anyways, I should probably stop ranting so that you can read the actual story, right? Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I still do not own Hetalia or any of its characters... I do have a cat though, I own my cat. **

**Chapter 2- Empty Glove**

As the cloud grew and enveloped him, England snapped his mouth shut and held his breath, knowing exactly what would happen if he breathed in any of the magical vapor. The other countries were quickly hidden from his view by the thick purple haze, but he could still hear them. A few feet away, America, who had been in the cloud the longest, gasped and choked and England heard a soft thud as his brother fell to the floor. Elsewhere in the room, England heard Switzerland bellowing for Liechtenstein, quickly followed by the firing of a shotgun. To his left, France laughed, but was quickly silenced by the metallic clang of Hungary's frying pan.

England's lungs screamed for air and he began to feel dizzy. He stumbled towards the door, hoping in vain that he could escape before his air ran out. What had he been thinking? How could he have been so stupid, letting his anger overcome him like that? England gasped, sucking in a deep, labored breath. Instantly the smoke filled his lungs and he became overwhelmed with fear. Collapsing to the ground, he closed his eyes, knowing that it was too late now to prevent the inevitable.

The cloud grew thicker around him, weighing on him like a stifling blanket; he began to slip into unconsciousness and-

England stood in the middle of a dry, dusty wasteland; before him, the deserted plain seemed to stretch on forever until it met with the crimson colored sky. It was hot, unbearably hot. England glanced around anxiously, vaguely remembering that he had been angry about something… why? The memory danced at the edge of his consciousness and the more he tried to remember it, the harder it was to do just that. Something deep in England's mind told him that this specific memory was important somehow and it frustrated him to no end that he could not remember it. England licked his dry, chapped lips, pondering the elusive memory.

"ENGLAND!" America's terrified scream tore England from his thoughts. He turned forgetting the strange memory and was startled to find that the wasteland dropped off into a cliff, a few feet away.

Cautiously, he approached the edge and peered over. America clung to the side of the cliff, fear written on his face. To either side of him, other nations also held on to the rock face desperately. Hundreds of feet below them, a river of lava gushed; its heat was agonizing, even from this distance.

"Iggy, please!" His brother pleaded, gazing up at him.

Italy screamed as rock beneath his fingers crumbled away and he plummeted towards the river below, Germany shouting his name as he fell. Suddenly filled with panic, England dropped to all fours, braced himself against the edge and reached out for his little brother. Hope filled America's eyes as he reached for his brother's hand.

To America's right, China lost his grip because the long fabric of his sleeves had hindered him from getting a good hold on the rock, and he was quickly followed France. England ignored both of their screams as he reached for his brother, his hand just a few inches short of its goal.

"Just… a little… farther…" England said between clenched teeth, trying to reach a little more, even though his arm already felt ready to rip out of its socket.

The look in America's eyes changed from one of hope to one of panic as the rock under his fingers began to crumble away. England roared with a final surge of effort, and grabbed his brother's hand, just as the rock fell away and America's other hand lost its grip. America dangled helplessly over the river of fire, one hand clutching England's, the other scrambling uselessly at the rock face. Gritting his teeth, England began to pull the other nation up.

"You need to go… on a bloody diet!" England muttered, digging his heels into the ground for more leverage.

America smiled weakly up at him, "I'll start drinking diet sodas, just for you." He said, poorly hiding the fear in his trembling voice.

As he pulled, England began to feel America's hand slipping and he franticly tried to adjust his grip. But the action was pointless, America slipped from his hand, leaving England holding nothing but an empty leather glove.

"NO!" He screamed, rushing to the edge of the cliff, watching his little brother fall to his death.

"You can't help him anymore!" Germany cried, now the only country left clinging to the side of the cliff, "save me!"

England ignored the German; he had eyes only for his brother, poor, sweet, little America. He wished he could turn away, he didn't want to watch this, but he found himself unable to look away. The nation's decent was soon broken by the river below and, even from as far away as he was, England could still hear his little brother's dying screams.

Scrambling backwards, away from the edge of the cliff, England sobbed. He pulled his knees up to his chest, buried his face in his hands and wept. He wept for all the times he had yelled at America and berated him, when he should have encouraged him and guided him. He wept for the days when he had held on to his brother too tightly, succeeding only in pushing the rebellious colony away. He wept for all the times he had failed his little brother, for all the things he had done wrong, all the things that he hadn't done right. He had failed. And for this reason, England wept.

**And that's it! See you next time. I promise to keep working on the next chapter, but it probably won't be finished as quickly as this one was. This week is going to be pretty busy and the weekend will be too. But I will keep working, so don't hate me if the next chapter isn't out in a week.**


	3. Chapter 3- Blood of a Nation

**Its me again! Maple mouse! Sorry it has been so long since my last update, life just got really busy. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, especially the Japan and Lichtenstein scene. I wrote that scene for my little sister, Japan and Lichtenstein are her favorite characters. It was hilarious watching her fangirl while proofreading this chapter for me. So, while I doubt anyone will ever enjoy it as much as my sister did, I hope you like it! **

**Disclaimer: In case you haven't heard, I don't own Hetalia. (That would be really awesome though)**

**Chapter 3- Blood of a Nation**

Japan watched with growing unease as the room quickly broke into chaos, though the emotion did not show on his face. He scanned the meeting room, hoping to find some way he could help to end the riot. Not far away, Denmark swung his giant ax in dangerous, glinting arcs, showing off to anyone who would watch, on the far side of the room, Hungary chased France, frying pan ready to strike, and right beside Japan, Switzerland brandished his shotgun above his head, shouting for silence. There were far too many weapons drawn for Japan's comfort.

Suddenly noticing a potentially deadly situation, Japan sprang into action, grabbing Lichtenstein's wrist and pulling her backwards, an instant before she could be decapitated by a careless Denmark. The girl stumbled, falling backwards into Japan's arms. For a moment she did not move, frozen with shock, then slowly she turned her head to gaze up into her rescuer's eyes. As she looked into his eyes, Lichtenstein smiled gently at him and Japan flushed red with embarrassment, quickly releasing his hold on the girl.

"Thank you Mr. Japan. That was very brave of you." She said, still smiling.

"It was nothing, rearry." He said, blushing even harder, "are you arright?"

Across the other side of the meeting table, England was chanting some spell, fury written on his face. Elsewhere, Russia's chilling laugh reached Japan's ears. Barely containing his frustration, the stoic nation forced himself to ignore the squabbling countries around him, though England's chanting was beginning to unnerve him.

"Mr. Japan?" Liechtenstein asked hesitantly and Japan realized that she had been speaking to him. He apologized and asked that she repeat what she had said.

The girl grinned at him, "I said that I was fine but that I don't know why big brudder lets me come to these meetings, he usually tries to avoid violent situations."

He nodded, "I understand, I do not enjoy these ridicurous meetings either, however they are necessary. I remember how things were before we had them, it was truery madness."

The young nation nodded, clearly trying to imagine anything madder than their current situation. The room grew abruptly silent as England's chanting stopped, Japan and Liechtenstein turned to see what had happened. Before either of them could fully understand what they were seeing, they were surrounded by a thick purple cloud and darkness enveloped them.

His airways suddenly blocked, Japan coughed and choked, desperately trying to breathe. A short ways away, Japan heard Switzerland screaming for Liechtenstein, immediately followed by the firing of a shot gun that made Japan's ears ring. A warm, wet substance splattered across his face, some getting in his open mouth, filling it with a metallic taste, the taste of blood. Japan sank to his knees, consciousness beginning to slip away from him. Placing one hand out to steady himself, Japan felt something wet on the ground, soaking the carpet. Reaching out his hand a few more inches, the nation's hand touched someone's arm. Japan tried to peer through the cloud, but to no avail. As consciousness slipped away from him, he toppled to the ground, face first into the pool of blood.

Japan awoke with his face lying on the meeting table, muted voices spoke all around him and someone nudged his arm hesitantly. He raised his head, looking around at the nations who were watching him with varying degrees of annoyance. Rubbing the blurriness from his eyes, Japan looked over at China, sitting beside him, "Did I farr asreep?" he asked, allowing a small amount of worry to seep into his voice.

China nodded, clearly upset, "Yes, you did aru."

"Yeah, and in the middle of my speech too! You were snoring and everything!" America shouted, glaring at Japan.

"It was totally not awesome!"

"And incredibly rude," England added.

Japan shrunk back in his chair, knowing that his face was probably bright red. He glanced over at Germany and Italy, hoping for some support from his allies but was met by only a cold glare of one nation and the other not paying attention to Japan's plight.

"I am truery sorry," Japan mumbled, not daring to meet anyone's gaze, "it will not happen again."

"Better not," America grumbled, returning to the front of the room.

The other nations followed suit, each going back to their seats. Japan buried his face in his hands, desperately hoping that the meeting would be over soon. He tried to pay attention to America's endless ramblings as the meeting continued, yet he found his mind wandering after only a few minutes. Absently picking up his pen, Japan began to doodle on the corner of his paper. After a few minutes, Japan felt China kick him under the table and he looked up to see the nation glaring at him. Japan quickly set his pen down, abandoning his doodle. Japan reflected on what had just happened. He never doodled; everything he did, had a purpose, down to the very smallest mark on a piece of paper. So why was he doodling now? This tiny drawing of a cat on the edge of his paper served no purpose. Was he losing his mind?

The meeting ended without further incident, as soon as it was over, Japan stood quickly and hurried towards the door. As he neared the door however, he ran in to Romano and both countries fell to the floor, papers flying everywhere. Japan quickly scrambled to his feet, offering his hand to Romano, who slapped it away and got up.

"Damn jerk." The Italian muttered under his breath, beginning to gather up his papers.

Apologizing, Japan began to gather up his own paperwork from the mess of documents on the ground. After a few minutes, all the papers had been collected and most of the other countries had left the meeting room. Romano stormed out, cursing violently, and Japan hung his head in shame, turning to leave.

"Japan! I wish to speak with you aru!" China demanded, still seated at the meeting table.

Nodding dejectedly, Japan made his way over to the nation, taking a seat facing him, not daring to meet his eyes.

China sighed, for a moment his age showing on his face, "Japan, I…" he began speaking softly as though he barely had the strength to speak, then his face hardened and he began again, "Japan, your behavior today has been unacceptable. First falling asleep during the meeting, then not even trying to pay attention, and then fiasco with Romano; what has come over you aru?"

Japan fidgeted nervously, still avoiding China's eyes, "I do not know. I was not trying to be rude, I am sorry."

China nodded, disappointment in his eyes, "you may go aru." He said curtly.

Standing, Japan bowed quickly and left the meeting room. He had barely taken three steps down the hallway, when Japan heard hushed voices talking and his name mentioned; Japan stopped and listened closely.

"I was surprised as well by his behavior, England; Japan is not usually this disrespectful." Japan immediately recognized Germany's gruff voice.

"As dull as America's speeches can be, falling asleep during a meeting is intolerable. I would expect it from Italy or Greece, but never Japan." England replied.

Listening to the other countries talk about him, a knot formed in Japan's throat and he quickly suppressed the urge to cry. He crept forward a bit farther until he was almost to the junction of the hall.

"Maybe he was just-a sleepy..." Italy's voice piped up.

"Even so, it was very rude." England replied sharply.

Having heard enough, Japan hurried down the hall, past the three countries, who all looked up with surprise and a bit of guilt as he passed. Though he felt running, Japan forced himself to slow down to a brisk walk as he headed towards his hotel room. Upon reaching his room, Japan rushed inside, slammed the door shut and sunk to the ground, sitting with his back against the door. Japan took several deep breaths trying to steady himself.

"Japan?"

He looked up with surprise to see Hungary standing a few feet away, frying pan held loosely in her grip.

"What are you doing in my room?" she asked with annoyance.

"Y-your room?" Japan's face reddened as he looked around and saw that this was indeed not his own room.

Hungary nodded silently, glaring at him. Japan scrambled to his feet, apologizing for what seemed like the thousandth time that day and rushed out. He hurried down to his actual room, triple-checking the room number and locked the door behind him. Collapsing on the bed, Japan stared up at the blank, white celling expressionlessly. He laid there for hours, unmoving, wallowing in self-pity until, somewhere around three in the morning, he drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

**Next Chapter: **

**While England may have completely ruined his spell, at least the country that it was originally intended for is feeling it's effects. That's right! Next up is everyone's favorite cheeseburger lover: America!**


	4. Chapter 4- I Want Candy

**Oh wow, it really has been a long time since I updated this story huh? Sorry about that, I just got through with final exams and I didn't feel like doing much of anything except play HetaOni my first few days of summer. You have my sister to thank for this chapter, she hasn't stopped bugging me about posting a new chapter, she forced me to sit down and write. I love all of you guys, thanks for all you feed back, please keep it coming! **

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, every single episode would be about Canada. Every episode is not about Canada, therefore, I do not own Hetalia. (ha ha, I sound so smart!)**

**Chapter 4- I Want Candy**

There were quite a few things on America's list of things he wanted to do before he died; eating a cheeseburger in outer space, raiding a candy store, and jumping off the space needle, being among them. Most of the things on his list, he would probably never do, only because he would forget about them before he could do them, or the opportunity would never present itself. However, this day would be different, as the opportunity to cross an activity off his list had presented itself quite nicely to him.

America woke up with something hard and uncomfortable digging into his back. Muttering curses, he rolled over, trying to cling to his last blissful moments of sleep. After a few minutes more, America cracked his eyes open and stared in shock at the scene before him: gumballs covered the floor, dozens of them in all different colors. A broken glass jar laid on the ground not far away, clearly the origin of the gumball explosion. Instantly awake, America began scrambling, on hands and knees, to shove as many gumballs as he could get his hands on, into his mouth. When he had finished, the floor was nearly gumball-free and America had so many of them in his mouth that he couldn't even chew.

His gumball craze finally over, America looked up and examined his surroundings. He was currently standing in the center of what appeared to be a giant candy shop, bins filled to the brim with brightly wrapped sweets and oddly shaped delicacies were everywhere, practically singing his name. In an almost dreamlike state, America wandered from bin to bin, grabbing handfuls of candy and stuffing them in his pockets as he began to chew his gumballs.

Thirty minutes later, after America had shed his jacket and was dragging it behind him as a trolley for his treats, he began to wonder why there was no one here, yelling at him for taking their candy, or England yelling at him for being a gluttonous pig. Leaving his candy filled jacket where it was, America began to search for someone, anyone, who might be around. He started with the door in the back that he had spotted during his plundering. He tried the door uncertainly and found it to be unlocked; he eased the door open slowly and peeked in. An old wooden desk sat in the corner with a few sheets of paper atop it and a few notes had been pinned to a cork board hanging on the wall, but otherwise, the room was entirely empty.

America sat down at the desk, absentmindedly chewing his gum. He picked up the papers sitting on the desk and scanned over them quickly, finding them to be of little importance; the same was true for the notes on the board. Then he checked the drawers of the desk, the first contained nearly a dozen pens in various different colors and some rubber bands, the other held a cell phone and an old apple. He picked up the phone and turned it on, the battery was nearly dead. Quickly punching in England's number, America called his condescending big brother. The phone rang for a while and America was about to hang up when-

"Hello, this is England."

"Dude, Iggy! Thank God!" he exclaimed, "I've got no idea where I am dude, you've gotta help me! I'm in some random candy store and I-"

"I apologize, but I cannot take your call right now." England's voice interrupted him, "Please leave a message and I will call you back as soon as I am available; unless you are France, in which case, don't leave a message and there is no bloody way I am ever going to call you. Thank you."

As the message played, America blinked with surprise and disappointment. The phone beeped, signaling that he could leave a message.

"Umm, yeah, Iggy, it's me, the hero. Dude I don't know where you are right now but if you could come and find me, that would be great. I'm in a candy store and there's no one else here. Other than that, I don't know where I am, so come find me."

America lowered the phone and saw that the phone had died, he wasn't sure exactly when during his message it had died though. He hoped it had recorded enough for England to know to come.

Placing the phone back in the desk, he headed to the front of the store and peered out of the large, polished glass window as the early morning light shone on his face. It faced outward onto a small, paved street; across the way, there were more shops and what appeared to be a hotel, but there was no sign of life anywhere.

America pushed open the door and walked down the street. He quickly checked inside each building as he went, finding building on the entire street empty. He then proceeded to search the next street, and the next, and the next, until he had searched the entire town and found himself right back where he had started. Finally finishing his search, America sighed and sat down in the middle of the street, hugging his knees to his chest. Where was everyone? How had he gotten here? He wondered as he sat. Was England searching for him? Was anyone?

Lying back on the hot pavement, America looked up at the cotton candy clouds, immediately seeing shapes and figures in their formation. He remembered back to when he had and England had used to lie in tall grass, side by side, staring up at the clouds. England would point out a shape to little America who would giggle and point out one of his own. America missed those days; he and his brother had been so close back then… what had happened?

Pulling himself out of reminiscence, America stood and headed back to the candy store for a lunch of sweets. The candy tasted bland without someone else here to share it with him; he ate mechanically, imagining the things Prussia would say if he was here too, raiding a candy store together with him. He pictured Canada sitting across from him, eating only maple flavored candies, watching him in silence.

He stopped eating when he began to feel sick to his stomach. Unable to bear the sight of candy any longer, America left the shop. The fresh air helped a bit and his stomach began to settle. However it did him little good, as five minutes later, America found himself in the restroom of the hotel across the street from the candy shop, kneeling in front of the toilet, as the candy he had eaten earlier made its reappearance.

Had England been there, he would have knelt by America's side, rubbing his back soothingly and rebuking him gently for bringing this upon himself. But England was not there, so America berated himself in England's place, thinking over again how stupid, stupid, _stupid _he was.

Finally finished, America sat on the cool tile floor of the bathroom, staring at the cracked white walls, tears welling up in his eyes. Never before had he felt so… so… alone.

**Next Chapter: **

**This all started because America dropped England, but was it really America's fault? Do you remember who made him trip? *wink wink***


	5. Chapter 5- Welcome Home

**Hey all, its me again. Here's another chapter for you guys to apologize for the long wait for the last one. I didn't plan on having a chapter about the cat, but the idea came to me while I was taking my Biology exam last week, needless to say, the second half of that exam didn't go so well. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer:give me a moment, gotta check something real quick...(5 minutes later)... ah, I thought so, I still don't own Hetalia.**

**Chapter 5- Welcome Home**

"There are times in every hero's life when he must do heroic things, and they cannot do these heroic things if people get in their way! Do you understand little cat?"

The cat in question glared crossly at America, dangling helplessly in the strong nation's grip.

"Aww, come on little cat! Don't look at me like that, it's not like I stepped on you!"

The cat struggled furiously against the hands holding him; _my name is Fovamai, stupid human! Not little cat, get it right!_ He yelled, however all the came out was a long irritated "MEOOOOWWW!"

"It's your own fault for running out in front of me like that."

Fovamai trembled with rage, praying to all the Greek gods he could think of to strike this annoying American dead. One of them must have heard his prayer, because at that moment, a dark purple cloud enveloped the two of them. America shouted with surprise and dropped the cat, which (of course) landed on his feet. Both cat and nation began to gasp for air and Fovamai, not wanting to die without exacting at least a small bit of revenge upon the American, extended his claws and slashed at the nation's ankles. His tiny lungs screamed for air, yet still Fovamai continued his onslaught, attacking America's feet and legs until he collapsed, dizzy from the lack of air. He heard and felt the thud as America collapsed beside him. Fovamai reached out, desperately trying to scratch the American one last time but unconsciousness claimed him first.

Then he was standing on a grass covered hill overlooking the ruins that his owner, Greece, loved so much. Dozens of cats milled about aimlessly, yet Greece was nowhere to be found. Fovamai sauntered lazily over to Oneiro, his best friend.

_'Hey, where's Mr. Greece?'_ We meowed at the gray cat.

Oneiro turned to face him, '_I don't know. He left an hour and a half ago, haven't seen him since.' _

_'Who did he take with him?'_ Fovamai asked.

He shook his furry head, '_No one, a few of us tried to go with him but he chased us off'._ Oneiro explained.

That was strange indeed, Greece never went anywhere without at least one of his cats and he never stop them from going anywhere. Greece must have been going somewhere very important indeed to have not wanted any cats there with him.

_'No one? That's not good. Do you think we should go look for him?'_ Fovamai inquired.

Oneiro considered for a moment, '_I think we should. Mr. Greece could get into trouble without us.'_

Fovamai nodded in agreement and together, the two of them headed off in the direction that Oneiro said Greece had left. They walked for an hour before coming upon a rather small village. The two cats began wandering the streets and soon heard Greece's familiar voice laughing happily.

They rounded the corner quickly and froze in shock at the scene before them. Japan stood with his back to them, watching Greece, who was dancing around and laughing with a small, chocolate colored dog in his arms.

"Umm… Greece-san, are you sure it's a good idea to get a dog? What if he doesn't rike your cats?" Japan asked hesitantly.

Fovamai and Oneiro shared a look; Japan had just voice exactly what was on both of their minds.

Greece nuzzled the dog fondly, "That won't be a problem. I have decided that I like dogs better, I am getting rid of my cats."

Japan made a noise half-way between a yelp and sob, "But Greece-san… what will happen to all your cats? I thought you loved them!"

Greece smile sleepily, "I did but I changed my mind. I will be giving them to Russia; he has agreed to take them."

Fovamai stumbled back, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. Greece was giving them Russia? This wasn't happening, it couldn't be! The two cats fled the town, rushing back to the hill where the others were.

By the time they reached the hill they were both exhausted and could barely stand, yet they had to warn the others. As they crested the top of the hill a horrific sight greeted them. Cats fled in every direction as Russia ran after them with a giant burlap sack. Each time he caught one of them, without breaking stride, he would shove them into the sack and turn his attention to the next cat.

Finally shoving the last cat into the bag, Russia looked gleefully up at the Fovamai and Oneiro and began walking swiftly towards them. The two cats turned and fled, knowing the dark and horrible future before them if they were caught. They ran as fast as their legs would carry them, but they were both still tired from the journey there and Russia was faster than them.

Oneiro howled in protest as Russia grabbed him by the tail and flung him into the sack. Fovamai turned at the sound of his friend's capture, before realizing his mistake and resuming his flight, just a moment too late. His paws left the ground as a large hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. Fovamai screeched and hissed and Russia held him up at eye level.

"Welcome home little one." Russia laughed.

Then Fovamai was shoved into the bag and the world went dark.

**Next Chapter: **

**I'm not going to say who its about, but I must say... it will be awesome! (hint hint)**


	6. Chapter 6- Or Forever Hold Your Peace

**It's me again, with another totally awesome, exciting into! Oh yeah, there's a chapter too, but I know you all are reading this just to know what I have to say, right?! Uh...right? Ugh! Fine, here's your stinking chapter! **

**Disclaimer: So I went to the store and bought a Hetalia t-shirt, four Hetalia pins and a Hetalia key chain. Unfortunaely, the were all out of the rights to Hetalia, so I still don't own Hetalia. **

**Chapter 6- Or Forever Hold Your Peace**

"You are awesome. You are awesome. You are awesome." Prussia muttered soothingly to himself, resting his head on the table. "You are awesome. You are awesome." He tried desperately to ignore the squabbles all around him, "You are awesome. You are awesome." He must not lose his temper again, he must not! "You are awesome. You are awesome." He would not break his promise to West. He would not lose his temper. "You are awesome. You are awe-"

Some sixth sense warned Prussia of danger and his eyes snapped open. He threw himself to the ground, just barely escaping a beheading courtesy of Denmark's axe. Prussia gritted his teeth, feeling the rage bubbling up inside of him. "You are awesome." He told himself one last time before rising to his feet and surveying the room.

France ran past him, fleeing Hungary and her frying pan. As soon as his friend was past, Prussia stuck his foot out and tripped Hungary who sprawled to the ground yet somehow managed to keep her grip on the frying pan.

"Oh! Miss Hungary, are you alright?" Prussia asked in his sweetest voice, helping her to her feet.

"I know you tripped me, you idiot!" she growled, smacking him with her frying pan then resuming her chase of France.

Prussia laughed to himself and began to walk to the other side of the meeting room; perhaps he could annoy Russia a bit. He quickly stepped to the side to avoid being mowed over by America as he carried England across the room. Prussia smirked and turned to watch as America tripped over a cat and England fell to the ground. Furious, England rose to his feet, glaring at America. Prussia laughed; America was in for it now.

He turned, to resume his walk and promptly ran into a slight, blonde-haired man who was carrying a stuffed polar bear.

"Sorry," The blonde nation whispered.

Prussia stared at him, "Who are you?"

The man's shoulders slumped and he looked down at his feet, "I'm Canada."

"Whatever ya say, kid."

Canada glanced over at England and America, Prussia followed his gaze. America was now hidden in a dark purple cloud and England stood a short way away, chanting. Prussia's blood ran cold.

"…I have a bad feeling about this…" Canada announced.

Prussia raised an eyebrow at the blonde; he hadn't thought the nation's voice actually could rise above a whisper. Apparently, neither had England, who turned to look at Canada, surprise written on his face. Then surprise was replaced by fear as England began to chant again.

Abruptly the cloud that had enveloped America had surrounded him too. Prussia gasped and choked, clutching at his throat, suddenly unable to take in any air.

"Not… awesome…" Prussia wheezed.

Shouts and screams filled the air, punctuated by a loud gunshot; the room was silent for a moment, then the screaming resumed, even louder than before. Prussia fell to his knees, swaying from side to side, then pitched forward, collapsing to the ground.

* * *

His shirt was scratchy and stiff, altogether uncomfortable. The fact that he was sweating profusely didn't help either. His jacket was too thick and restrictive, and Prussia could barely raise his arms more than a foot from his body. The pants weren't any better; they hampered his movement almost as much as the jacket. This was ridiculous, what would he do if he needed to fight? He couldn't fight with his arms at his sides and waddling like a penguin!

Prussia plucked irritably at his collar, struggling to even reach his hands to his neck. He dragged himself up the church steps. Inside the main building of the church, nations and people milled about aimlessly. The men wore suits similar to his, though Prussia noted that they seemed far more comfortable in theirs; the women all wore dresses in different pastel colors and their hair done up beautifully. Prussia trudged over to his brother, suddenly realizing that his shoes were too tight and were pinching his feet.

"Hey West," he said miserably.

Germany looked over at him with a glare. He wore a suit identical to Prussia's and the ex-nation consoled himself with the fact that Germany didn't seem very comfortable in his attire either.

"You could at least try to look happy." Germany scolded him, "weddings are meant to be joyous occasions, brudder."

Prussia rolled his eyes, "you're one to talk, West."

Brow furrowing, Germany crossed his arms, "Vhat do you mean? This is how I normally look."

"My awesome point exactly."

Ignoring his brother's comment, Germany glanced down at his watch, "It's starting in a few minutes, and Ve should find a seat."

Prussia smirked, knowing that he had won that tiny argument, yet decided not to press the matter. He sat with his brother to his left and after a few minutes, Lithuania took the seat to his right. As the wedding began, Prussia let his mind wander as flower girls skipped down the aisle, followed by the rest of the procession. His mind snapped back to reality as Hungary walked down the aisle. She was beautiful in her floor-length, white dress and her face slightly obscured by her veil. Her arm was looped through that of her boss as he guided her toward the front of the church. The sight of her took Prussia's breath away.

Hungary finished the walk down the aisle and her boss took his seat in the front row. Hungary slipped her hand into Austria's, intertwining their fingers and the two of them faced the minister. The vows were read and Prussia waited impatiently for the line that he knew was coming.

"If anyone feels this couple should not be united in Holy Matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace…"

This was it; it was time. Prussia took a deep breath to calm his nerves and stood, "I object!"

There was dead silence as all eyes turned to stare at him. Most of the guests looked shocked, a few looked annoyed, and a few looked amused. Germany buried his face in hands clearly embarrassed; Austria looked furious. But Prussia ignored them all; he had eyes only for Hungary.

There was no going back now, he took a deep breath before continuing, "I love you, Hungary. You are the only person whose awesomeness rivals my own. Please don't do this, don't marry him. I love you."

She stared at him in silence for a few moments, then her face hardened, "I don't love you though. You missed your chance long ago," she turned back to Austria and motioned for the minister to continue.

Germany grabbed his wrist and attempted to get Prussia to sit back down. He yanked his arm from his brother's grasp and fled the church. Then he ran; he didn't know where he was going or how long he would run, he only knew that he had to get as far from that church as he possibly could.

**Next Chapter: **

**You will become one with mother Russia, da?**


	7. Chapter 7- One is the Loneliest Number

**Well, I have good news and bed news. Good news: Guess what? I just passed my drivers permit test, yay! Bad news: I have a bunch of summer homework that I have been putting off, but I really have to get working on it, so I probably won't be publishing another chapter until its finished. Sorry. I really am terrible about staying on track though, so a might publish one chapter, no guarantees. **

**Disclaimer: see chapters 1-6**

**Chapter 7- One is the Loneliest Number**

"Become one with mother Russia, Da?"

China took a step back instinctively, eyes glued on the Russian's lead pipe. Russia laughed, it wasn't that he wanted China to become one with him more than any of the others, China's reaction to the question simply pleased him more. There were others whose reactions pleased him as well, Italy for example; his terrified screams filled Russia's heart with joy.

Russia glanced around the meeting room for the Italian and he frowned with displeasure when the boy was nowhere to be found. He turned back to China and twirled his pipe with one hand, laughing.

A few weeks ago he had overheard a few of the smaller nations discussing his laugh; they had described it as a 'kolkolkol' laugh. That had amused him greatly, so he had let all of them live. Thinking on it, Russia had decided that 'kolkolkol' had a nice ring to it, it sounded like someone was struggling to say 'cold' and Russia liked the cold (he also liked it when people struggled to do things).

He took another step toward China, reducing the space between them, "Become one with mother Russia, da?" he asked again.

"I… uh…no, aru!"

Leaning close, Russia smiled as China gagged, probably smelling the vodka on his breath, and opened his mouth to speak.

Whatever words he was about to say were interrupted by a billowing purple haze that surrounded both of them. It filled his mouth and lungs, stealing away his air, which made Russia angry, no one stole from him!

As he had not had a chance to take a breath before being enveloped, his consciousness quickly began to slip away. The Russian felt himself begin to fall forward and flailed around for something to grab on to. The back of his hand connected with someone, sending them flying, and Russia fell to the ground, unconsciousness claiming him.

* * *

"You won't get away with this," America vowed, nursing his broken arm, "someone will stop you."

Russia laughed, "Ah, Amerika, I already have. You are only one left to stop me, the others are gone."

America glared at him, blood tricking down his face from the wound on his forehead, and raised his gun with his one good hand. Russia didn't even move as his opponent fired. _BANG_! The first shot went wide; missing Russia completely, thrown off by America's shaking hand. _BANG_! The second shot clipped Russia's shoulder, but the big man did not even wince. _Click_. America stared down at his gun incredulously. _Click. Click. Click_.

Laughing gleefully, Russia began to advance, raising his pipe to a ready position. Knowing that he was out of options, America threw the gun at Russia's head and turned to run. Russia dodged the projectile easily and quickened his pace; he caught up with the American in three quick strides and brought his pipe down across the other's back.

Three quick blows and it was over, Russia wiped his blood stained pipe on America's jacket, then stowed it away in his coat for future use. He stared down at the American's battered body and a grin spread across his face as a realization hit him.

He had done it! Finally, after all these years, it was done! Everyone had become one with him, they were all his! Russia jumped up and down and shouted with excitement; it was unlike him, but on a momentous occasion such as this, he was surely allowed to get a bit excited.

Bending down, Russia plucked the blood splattered glasses from America's nose. He rubbed the blood away on his jacket and slipped the glasses on. They blurred his vision for a few moments, but his eyes quickly adjusted to them. Russia wondered briefly how he looked in glasses and glanced about for a reflective surface, unable to find one, he assured himself that they looked good on him.

Pulling out his cell phone, Russia informed his boss of his victory and arranged for him to be picked up. After hanging up, Russia strolled around the open field and mused that he must be somewhere in America's Midwest, there was too much open space and agriculture for it to be anywhere else. There was little agriculture left though, before abandoning their homes and fleeing the Russian soldiers, America's citizens had burned all of their crops, rendering them useless to Russia. It was a tactic that he had used on multiple occasions, though he had had far more success in its use than America had.

The burned crops were not the only evidence of war either, as he grew closer and closer to the city where he would be picked up, he noticed bodies more and more frequently. Most of them were American soldiers, some were just ordinary citizens, and a few were his own soldiers.

As he entered the small rural town, the stench of death hit his nostrils and he ignored it as best he could. Bodies littered the streets, not soldiers now, just civilians, casualties of war; their loss was regrettable, but necessary, America hadn't known when to give up. An abandoned shop caught Russia's eye and he stopped. It was no different than the other shops around it, yet still it drew his interest.

On the floor, just inside, lay three trampled sunflowers amidst the shattered remains of a crystal vase.

He kicked the shop's door off its one remaining hinge and entered the small store. The glass crunched softly beneath his shoes as he plucked up the yellow flowers, many of the petals fell off as they were moved. Russia studied the crushed flowers for a moment then returned them to the floor and left.

He was picked up by a helicopter in the center of a once beautiful park and flown to a nearby city where his personal jet was waiting to fly him home. They stopped in United Kingdom to refuel and Russia got off to walk around a bit.

As he made his way to the world conference building, people watched him fearfully from the windows of their dilapidated homes, but he ignored them. Arriving at his destination, Russia entered confidently, stepping over the discarded body of Sealand in the hall and heading to the meeting room. The rancid smell of rotting flesh hit him like a slap to the face and Russia balked before entering the room fully. France lay on the floor just inside the doorway, his neck bent at an impossible angle, eyes staring lifelessly at the celling; England sat slumped against the wall not far away, his body riddled with bullets and China sat in his chair at the table, a single bullet hole passing strait through his heart.

Russia had killed them all. His gaze swept over the bodies with a look akin to sadness, they might have been his foes, but they were still countries and they deserved a better burial than this.

Reaching into his pocket, Russia drew out a plain yellow lighter, flicked it on and tossed it to the ground. He left the building as the curtains caught fire; soon the entire building would be aflame and the deceased countries would receive a proper burial, but Russia would be long gone before then.

Four hours later he landed in Moscow and drove home. There were no lights on inside the house and his footsteps echoed ominously as he hung up his coat and set aside his pipe. He grabbed a bottle of vodka from the pantry and took it to the den. Canada sat slumped over on the couch, his cyanide laced tea and teacup on the floor. Behind the couch, Estonia and Latvia both lay face down in pools of their own blood, Lithuania was dead in the dining room, Russia knew.

Sighing with frustration, Russia stomped upstairs with his vodka. He flopped down on his bed and spent the rest of the night drinking, having to crack open his emergency vodka stash under his bed because he didn't want to see the bodies downstairs, not again.

The next morning, Russia went downstairs to burry Canada and the Baltics in his backyard, before slipping on his coat and taking a walk, he reveled in the glory of the frozen clod morning, The world was his, all his, and he was now the most powerful country in the world (he was in fact the only country in the world, but Russia was not one to bother with specifics).

He had walked this path every morning, and every morning his walk had become a run as his fled his insane older sister, but not this morning. He laughed with joy at his freedom as he arrived back home without an attack from Belarus.

* * *

Days became weeks and Russia soon fell into a routine. He woke up early each morning and took his walk, strolling alone through the streets of Moscow. He watched his citizens as he walked, couples walked down the street hand in hand and children ran through the snow playing their little games. He had never noticed them before, never noticed how happy they seemed in each other's company, even when they seemed upset at each other, watching them made him feel unbearably lonely and he (almost) missed being chased Belarus.

After his walk he would prepare himself a meal and eat it alone at a table large enough to seat twenty people. Then he would retreat to his office and do paperwork. His work load seemed to have quadrupled in the weeks since he had conquered the world, it was understandable, after all, he was the only country left to do paperwork.

Russia was unsure of why, but his day always ended in his backyard, sitting before the graves of Canada and the Baltics, with a bottle of vodka clutched in his hand, though he never drank it. He simply sat, staring at the four unmarked graves, somehow feeling as if he was the unlucky one, rather than them.

**Next Chapter: **

**Deutschland ist der nächste. Mit besonderem Dank an insane-assylum-13 (use google translate) **


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